


Girl, Unshackled.

by kindclaws



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Benders are the oppressed ones for a change, Equalists have technology, F/M, Politics, Pro-Bending, Revolution, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:07:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindclaws/pseuds/kindclaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mako's life is divided into two stages: Before Korra, and After Korra. </p><p>Before Korra, living under Republic City's oppressive new laws is harsh. He's a high school dropout and an illegal probender and everywhere he goes, he and the other benders are hated for the shackles on their wrists and ankles - the ones the Equalists have made mandatory. He tries not to care very much about the increasing restrictions, and focuses on making enough money to keep him and his younger brother alive and out of trouble.</p><p>Korra gives him something more dangerous than fire. She gives him an opportunity to change the world. </p><p>And because he's a hormonal teenager whose life will never amount to anything otherwise, he foolishly takes it. What follows is a whirlwind of attempted social justice, of a romance that is never given enough air to ignite, of a revolution that blurs the lines between legal and illegal, humane and inhumane. After Korra, Mako is left burning with the flames she started. But he soon finds life is nothing like a probending match in a dirty basement, and he's never faced an opponent as powerful as society itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girl, Unshackled.

**Author's Note:**

> Fire puns and teenage angst galore. More information about the AU in the end notes.
> 
> The first chapter ended up being far longer than I expected, but the rest of the story will be relatively disjointed, drabble style. At least, that's what I'm planning.

**M** ako is smoking on the night he accidentally joins the revolution.

On good days, he imagines his mother - bless her soul - clawing out of her grave in the cheapest part of the only cemetery within the city limits that he and his younger brother could afford to bury her in. She usually makes her entrance into his daydreaming with an affectionate slap to the face before she starts scolding his new habits - smoking those dirty cigarettes, Mako? And picking fights? That is not how I raised you, _nino_ , what kind of model are you for Bolin? - and Mako gives the empty parking lot in front of him a hazy smile as he blows a smoke ring.

His memory of her voice is faint, having been taken from his life too early, but he remembers she used to always finish her sentences on a slightly higher pitch than she started them, and she put the stresses on the wrong syllables like all the other first generation immigrant parents in their neighborhood. He wishes he could remember more, but he never really stopped to think about her after the funeral and the numerous phone calls to teary relatives overseas.

He doesn't feel guilty about this, knows she would understand.

Her death had left him nothing more than a sixteen year old kid alone with a fourteen year old baby brother to take care of in a city that looked down on them for a tidal wave of reasons. There hadn't been time to mourn - the day after she'd been shot down in the grocery store parking lot he had gone and applied for every job within twenty blocks that would take a teenage Latino boy cursed with a 'talent' he'd never asked for.

It had taken weeks before anyone had bothered to call to tell him he was rejected. It didn't matter that he'd gotten good grades in the rundown public high school he'd attended, or that he'd kept his head down and his mouth shut, or that he didn't have a criminal record. Wary glares filled with mistrust and revulsion would fix on his wrists the minute he reached over the counter to hand in a resume, and the message had become clear.

_We don't take benders._

 

 **"Fact": after the Equalist revolution of the 70's, nonbenders and benders became** **brothers and sisters, in equal strength and opportunity and talent.**

**(But the curfews never seem to apply when it's a nonbender caught wandering outside after hours, and his mother was shot simply because she was a 'dirty bender', and Mako knows every curt "we're not hiring" is just a lie brought on by the presence of the thick, ugly manacles on his wrists and ankles.)**

 

The memory of those first weeks still fills him with quiet anger, but there's nowhere to channel that anger but into fire. He and Bolin had nearly starved, stretched thin on the generosity of friends and what little family they had in Republic City.

So when he'd been jumped by the Triple Threat Triads and offered a chance to be part of an illegal fighting ring - probending, they called it on the streets - he'd taken it.

Mako still doesn't regret it. Even though the bruises left on his ribcage from earth disk impacts never heal from one fight before the next paints another painful layer. Even though his hands are wrinkled and scarred with "improper fire use" and the heavy black cuffs on his wrists prevent him from hiding the burns properly with his tattered gloves. Even though every match brings in barely enough cash and he's had to drop out of high school so that Bolin can finish.

A door squeaks open, hinges rusty and uncooperative. Noise and light and the smell of booze drifts from the open doorway, before a hulking bear of a man obscures it slightly with his silhouette.

"Hey, Mako," he says. "Coming in tonight?"

"Yeah," Mako replies, and stands as he drops his cigarette to the curb.

"Don't tell me you're picking those damned things off the sidewalks again," the bouncer chides, chuckling as he tries to ruffle the teenager's hair and Mako ducks out of the way.

"My tragic flaw," Mako says mournfully. "I can't be perfect all the time."

"All right, Fire Ferret," the bouncer says, affectionately using his ring name. Before Mako can step into the building and its usual jarring discord of pulsating bass and trade of coin and cocaine, he pauses. A whisper comes to his ears, carried along as though by the tropical winds that never quite reach Republic City enough to bring with them the smell of home.

_I'm proud of you, mi hijo._

_I know, mama_ , he thinks back. But she'd be even prouder of Bolin. His younger brother acts like a goofball, dresses himself every morning in armour made of humour and carelessness, and fools everyone. Everyone, but the teachers and Mako. The kid's a genius underneath it all. Mako's going to get him to university, somehow.

 _This is why I fight_ , he thinks as he follows the bouncer down a creaky metal staircase and endures good luck pats on his shoulders from the people who have put money on his win tonight. The ring is illuminated in harsh white light, too bright for him to see the watching crowd as he climbs over the ropes. There is just him, and the tall, scrawny man with a lock of hair obscuring one side of his face, standing at the other end.

Mako has faced Tahno before, in back way alleys that allowed them only to throw punches and bite like cornered cats. But not in the ring. Tahno's ring identity - Wolfbat - is someone else entirely. Out there in the streets, people like Mako and Tahno and Bolin and hundreds of other benders are just shadows of themselves, unable to use their true strength. In the ring, everything changes.

The cuffs come off.

 

**"Fact": the Satobracelets ™ are designed to prevent accidents in the early stages of bending presentation, where a young bender child cannot properly control their element and puts themselves and their fellow playmates at risk. Satobracelets™ prevent the flow of dangerous elemental power into the hands and feet, leaving bender children free to play with their nonbender classmates without incident!**

**(Mako is eighteen and still wears the Satobracelets™ like every other bender in Republic City, child or not. He sees them for the shackles they are, but can say nothing.)**

 

No one knows exactly how "Lightning Bolt" Zolt managed to acquire a de-cuff machine, and no one dares to ask. Mako has long since accepted it as one of many conflicting facts in his short life.

The de-cuff machine isn't exactly standard issue, and it makes Mako feel kind of ridiculous to step into the two boxes on the ground and raise his hands up 135 degrees to the boxes there. He's been doing this for two years now but he's still made nervous by the hiss of air and the sudden pressure on his wrists and ankles before it dissipates and his limbs feel lighter than ever. This is illegal, so illegal - he could be killed just for being in this establishment if the Equalists bust them - but then he thinks of Bolin, as always.

 _This is why I fight_ , he reminds himself. _For Bolin. All for Bolin._

Across the ring, Tahno the "Wolfbat" steps out of his own boxes, rubbing gingerly at his wrists. His joints bear the same scars of every bender, the band of smooth tissue only ever exposed for minutes at a time. Mako rolls his shoulders as he steps forward, watching as his opponent unconsciously mirrors him.

 

**"Fact:" the Satobracelets™ can only be removed temporarily with specialized equipment in licensed training facilities with proper supervision.**

**(The Triple Threat Triad permanently removes the cuffs of their own, and temporarily those of their ringrats. Anyone who dare to ask how or why, can and will get a mouthful of lightning for their trouble, courtesy of Zolt.)**

 

Mako knows Tahno is a waterbender, but having never seen him uncuffed, doesn't know how good he is. So when the miniature gong goes off and the scrawny man in front of him throws his hands up, he's caught off guard by the power of the wave that rushes up to meet him.

It's okay.

Fighting is what Mako does for a living. He is the fire, and the fire is him.

Pro-bending is fast and hard and dirty. Besides get your opponent out of bounds or on the ground pleading for mercy, there aren't really any rules or guidelines. Why would there be? The Triple Threats are mainly concerned with the gambling that goes on between spectators. As long as they get their share of the cash, the ringrats can fight as dirty as they want.

And boy, does Tahno fight dirty.

Mako holds his own as long as he can, does okay for the first two rounds and thinks he might even manage to scrounge up a tie against the fouling sonuvabitch he's up against but then the fuckass goes and pulls a waterbending trick - nothing noticeable on the sidelines, just a muscle spasm in Mako's leg that brings him down to his knees and powerless against the ice that encases his body and freezes the very air in his lungs.

Tahno struts around the ring in his victory lap, arms high in the air and palms covered in a thin sheen of water. Mako wants to be in his position, wants those precious extra seconds to feel his element lick over his skin and obey his thoughts. But the ice has barely melted before he's being helped up to his feet, wet and shivering, and he's dimly aware of hands manoeuvring him back into the decuff machine, the familiar pressure against his joints and then the heavy weight of his shackles, returned once more.

"Good fight man," one of his helpers says, his tone apologetic and knowing as he lets Mako down into a nearby chair. Mako forces open one exhausted eye to appraise the owner of the voice. It's Hasook, a waterbender who's not usually this nice to him. He must have noticed Tahno's subtle bloodbending.

"It wasn't a good fight," Mako rasps, and Hasook backs away, palms raised nonthreateningly.

"A'ight man, whatever you say."

"Tahno doesn't fight fair," Mako insists, but Hasook's attention has already turned to the next fight, the next two lucky benders stepping into the decuff machines to get their fifteen minutes of fame and freedom.

"I know, man. Totally unfair. Don't worry man, you're still the best probender we've got."

"Stop calling me man."

"A'ight man."

Mako gives up at that and raises his hands to his face. His gloves have more holes in them - he needs new ones to hide the burn scars, but they'll have to wait. Second semester starts in a few weeks, Bolin needs new textbooks and a ruler set and a pair of sneakers to replace the pair a gang of nonbender kids threw up over a powerline to tease him. Mako should have won tonight. Should have gotten the full prize money. Tonight he'll get only the rates given to the losers - the target practice, the straw dummies. He doesn't lose often, and the taste of defeat is bitter in his mouth. He and Bolin can't afford to lose often. He sticks around long enough to shoot daggers at a still bragging Tahno, seated at Zolt's feet in a place of honour in the stands, and to get his meagre wad of bills from some acne-cursed preteen, and then he pushes past the bouncer and into the street.

The night air is cool and free of the stench of alcohol and piss. He breathes it greedily, raising his face to the nearest lamppost and feeling almost free. Can't stick around though - it's past bender curfew.

Mako nearly misses the girl who scrambles up from the curb where he'd been smoking earlier.

"Hi!" she exclaims as she stops right in front of him, blocking his way home. She's a little breathless, and his first instinct is to take a step back. Breathless on the streets has an odd habit of coinciding with 'just a little bit more of the good stuff, please, I'll get the money I promise c'mon just a little bit' and he doesn't want to deal with an addict trying to take his hard earned prize money.

But a second look reveals just a harmless teenage girl. She's also rather pretty, but Mako doesn't have time to notice things like that.

"Can I help you?" Mako asks flatly as his eyes rake over the blue beads in her hair, the flush in her dark cheeks, and at last, over the thin silver cuffs on her bare wrists. Those take him by surprise. Cuffs like that are sleek and expensive, the Sato enterprise's best, a far cry above his clunky shackles. You don't see those often. Benders don't usually have the funds to pay for them.

"Yes! I mean, probably. No, I mean yes. Yes you can help." the girl stammers. He reconsiders the druggie label, and decides he wants to scram. Bolin will be asleep at home, lights out, taking up an entire moldy futon. Mako should be there too, and soon, before a patrol of Equalists shows up and sees the telltale black cuffs.

"Have a good night," he says, and steps around her. Or at least, he tries to. She's much faster than he expected and he has to stop in his tracks or risk plowing his chest into her stubborn face.

"You came out of there," she states, pointing at the heavy metal door that conceals the Triple Threat's most profitable operation. "You're a probender, right?"

"Go away kid," Mako says, and this time when he steps around her she slips to the side. He thinks he's gotten off until he finds her still keeping pace as he powerwalks down the sidewalk.

"I'm not a kid, I'm sixteen. Woah, you've got a huge bruise on your forehead over here," she says, and before he can stop her there's a finger pressing against his face and damn! that hurt, you little -

"Ow," he exclaims, and slaps her curious hands away. The hell is with this psycho, and why'd she pick him to bug out of all the people in this city?

"You must not be a very good bender if you got hit that hard," the kid says, almost sympathetic. They pass under a streetlight and he looks at her, gets a good look in the warm yellow light and she's actually really pretty.

...She'd be even prettier if she shut her mouth and turned around and left him alone.

"I am good," Mako growls. "The best. The bastard I fought likes to cheat."

"Sooo," the kid drawls. "If you're the best, you've got connections, right? Think you can get me an invitation?"

"No," Mako snaps. In the distance, he hears the wail of a siren. His hair stands on end - there isn't enough money for bail, not with rent and groceries and Bolin's textbooks costs creeping on the horizon, he can't afford to get caught by an Equalist patrol.

"Get home before you get us arrested," Mako says, walking faster and pulling his red scarf tighter around his neck. "And forget you ever heard anything about probending, it's bad for you."

"But you're in it," the girl says, and damn him if he doesn't want to punch her right now. He doesn't care if she's a girl and some naive little kid, no means no and he's not in the mood to babysit!

Just as he whirls on her, ready to yell and wave his arms and play big bad wolf, the sirens start up again, earsplittingly close, and they are suddenly aglow in harsh blue light.

"Evening, citizens, everything fine?"

Mako feels all the fight leave him as the beam of the flashlight dips lower, to his wrists and the cuffs that spell out tonight's sentence.

"Just fine," he says dully, but the Equalists ignore him completely, already clasping an electrical link between the two cuffs on his wrists and leading him to the Satomobile. Sato Sato Sato. Mako's heard the sob story dozens of times, isn't affected at all. Everyone has sob stories from 'before the revolution', 'before the bender menace was managed'. As a firebender, he's especially hated. Everyone and their dog has a friend who had a family member who burned painfully and spectacularly.

"Shit, I'm sorry," the kid hisses as they push her into the backseat with him, and Mako says nothing. In his mind he is already calculating, coming up with excuses to explain the wad of cash tucked into his coat - at least it's not a winning night's prize, a few measly bills are far easier to excuse - and wondering what he can feed Bolin and still make rent on time. There are two weeks left before the end of the month, so if he sucks up to Zolt for double the rounds and grits his teeth through the pain, they might still make it - how much is bail, and will Mako be able to stand the look of disappointment in Bolin's eyes?

"Don't mention it," Mako says, and a new round of apologies falls past the girl's dark lips.

"Seriously, I'll get this sorted out, we'll be out in no time-"

"I _said_ ," Mako interrupts, teeth gritting and fists shaking with a fire that will never reach his fingertips, "Don't. Mention. It."

The Equalist in the front passenger seat of the Satomobile raps his knuckles on the partition and swears, and the girl falls silent at last. They reach the station in silence, and Mako doesn't move from his seat until the door swings open and an Equalist drags him out by his elbow. He loses sight of the girl when they're put into separate interrogation rooms, and as he watches the single fluorescent lightbulb above the table swing lazily from the ceiling, he mutters 'good riddance' but his heart isn't really into it.

No one enters the room for what seems like at least an hour or two. Mako grows bored of resting his head in various uncomfortable positions - the back of the chair is too low and hard, the electrical link between his cuffs won't allow him to stretch out and sleep on his forearms, and the table is cold and unyielding beneath his ear. He's glad Bolin's a heavy sleeper. Mako's pretty sure he mentioned having a Calculus test tomorrow, and he'll rest better not knowing his older brother is in trouble.

At last a tall, thin woman with greying hair and scars on her face opens the door. She's not an Equalist - the badge on her chest is that of the local police force that deals with general crime, not bender crime specifically, but her gaze is still stern as she takes his forearms and grounds the electrical charge. Mako rubs his sore arms against his sides gratefully.

"How much is bail?" he asks the policewoman, already wincing in preparation of the financial blow.

"Already paid," she responds curtly, holding the door open for him. He just looks at her, blinks.

"By who?"

"Councilman Eracolyte."

Mako is stunned until he emerges onto another hallway and sees the kid who got him in trouble being scolded by a towering bald man. He's seen Tenzin Eracolyte on the news in passing, is vaguely aware that the thin scowling man seems to be the only one of the Council members who is at all interested in improving the conditions of 'bender-ghettos', but Mako has never had time for politics. Like the kid, the Councilman has thin silver cuffs on his bared wrists.

Mako manages a bitter smile. Airbenders are considered peaceful enough that even nonbenders have some respect for them, enough to allow one on the Council. As a firebender, he's the worst of the worst.

Councilman Tenzin spots Mako trying to sulk past, and immediately pulls him in. There is no iron grip on his shoulder or barked command, but Mako approaches nonetheless, knowing the serious gaze upon him can't be argued with.

"Good evening young man," the Councilman says gravely. "We apologize for dragging you into this misunderstanding. Your bail has been paid and a Satomobile awaits outside to take you home. I believe my daughter has an apology for you."

"Foster daughter," the kid corrects, seeing the confusion in Mako's face as he tries to compare Tenzin's pale tones with her darker features - she looks Native American except for the bright blue eyes. There is no trace of bitterness in the correction, just matter-of-fact statement. "I'm very sorry, Mr Firebender Dude. I want to thank you from the deepest, most sincerest part of my heart for taking pity on me when you saw me sleepwalking on the street and coming out to see if I was okay. Of course the smart thing to do when you woke me up would have been to call the Equalists to escort me home, but you are so kind and compassionate that your first thought was simply to help me find my way back since I'm new to Republic City. For that the entire Eracolyte family is very very grateful. There, was that good, Tenzin?"

Mako blinks.

Oh, he thinks, and then, _ohhh_. So her 'sleepwalking' lie is what got them out of trouble. He should set her pretty beaded hair on fire for the barely suppressed sass in her voice, but he finds that he's strangely grateful.

"Thanks," he says awkwardly. _Kid got you arrested, the least she could do is bust you out_ , he thinks to himself, but he's never seen such warmth in such icy blue eyes and for the smile she gives him he'll let it slide. _Just this time._

He turns to go. He shouldn't be having thoughts like these when her father - foster parent, whatever - is standing right beside her.

"Wait!" she calls out, and he turns. "What's your name, Mr Firebender Dude?"

"...Mako," he says after a moment of hesitation.

"Hi Mako," she grins. He doesn't trust that grin. Too many white teeth, too much promise of chaos and trouble in the name of fun. "I'm Korra."

"...Bye Korra," Mako replies, and this time he doesn't look back.

Okay, he lied earlier. That isn't the night that he accidentally joins the revolution. ~~In fact, it never even progresses far enough to be considered a revolution. It was doomed from the start.~~ But that's the night he meets Korra, and even though their 'insubordination' never succeeds, even though they don't win, it's still kind of a revolution in his mind. It's the night things start to change, the night the boulder is pushed down a hill too steep to stop on. Even if they don't manage to push the boulder very far, the momentum is already given, and someone else can take its weight when the world is ready for true equality.

But he doesn't know that night changes anything until much, much later. At the time, Korra is out of his mind by the time he stumbles into the apartment, making a bee-line for the couch, and when he falls asleep he doesn't think he'll ever have to see her again.

He is so wrong. So very, very wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> In case this AU wasn't entirely clear:
> 
> The Equalists, publicly funded and supported by Sato, led a revolution several decades ago in Republic City after tensions between benders and nonbenders rose to a boiling point. Too many benders had been taking advantage of their control over the elements to extort and harm nonbenders, so the Equalist movement used persuasive politicians and Sato's technology to put into place laws against bending, and cuffs that prevent bending on every bender in Republic City. 
> 
> The system went from corrupt in favour of benders, to corrupt in favour of nonbenders. Prejudice is rampant. Benders are barred from most high paying work, teaching jobs, classy restaurants, etc. Most turn to crime.
> 
> Bending in public is illegal, and can get you as much jail time as cold-blooded murder. Republic City's various bender gangs have mostly gone underground, and illegal probending fighting rings are as popular as speakeasies were in the Prohibition era. Now that they're illegal, everyone wants to get in on the gambling pool. 
> 
> Aside from probending rings, the only facilities that will (temporarily!) remove the cuffs are bender gyms, monitored and maintained by Republic City's more humane half of authority so that benders can go and 'detox' by bending in a secure location to purge their element out of their system. Most benders hate it because it's cold and sterile and contributes to the image that the Equalists are trying to create of bending as some sort of horrible disease that can be treated but not 'cured.'
> 
> ...At least, it's considered uncurable until a mysterious new Equalist named Amon emerges, and then the movement against benders gets even worse.
> 
> In the middle of all this, Mako is just an eighteen year old kid trying to follow the law as best as he can while providing for Bolin. Korra is a Councilman's new foster daughter, fresh off the boat and rather disturbed by the lack of freedom she now faces. Together, they may or may not try to start a revolution. 
> 
> More information will be added in time.
> 
> *Also note: Tenzin's last name (and by extension, Korra's) is Eracolyte, derived from Air Acolyte because I have no imagination.


End file.
